


and I am him as he is me

by wolfwithpanthereyes



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Bodyswap, Canon Era, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-05 10:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12793005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithpanthereyes/pseuds/wolfwithpanthereyes
Summary: Enjolras woke up with a rather bad headache, and that should probably have been the first sign that something was wrong..............And Grantaire was rather surprised, as he pressed his face into the pillow and attempted to block out the shouting, to find that he was rather alert.





	1. In which a student awakens to an unexpected surprise

Enjolras woke up with a rather bad headache, and that should probably have been the first sign that something was wrong.

Surely he hadn't been drinking last night? No, he had not touched a sip of beer or wine. The last time his head had hurt this bad, he had been suffering from a fever - had he caught one again? He felt a rush of annoyance. If it _was_ a fever, then it had caught him at possibly the worst time. He was planning a revolution, he had no time for sickness. 

He fought against it, forcing himself to sit up on the edge of the mattress, his eyes closed and his fingertips massaging his temples in an attempt to make the dull thud go away. He had a meeting this afternoon that he must attend. If he was not there to keep order and direct everyone along the path to the glorious Republic, they would end up drinking themselves silly, or worse, discussing mistresses. Enjolras was needed. He could not let a mere headache and grogginess of the limbs stand in his way.

He gripped the sheets, propelling himself to his feet. He took a step forward, unexpectedly overbalanced, and fell back with a shout. His body felt entirely out of balance - to take one step had been a challenge - and as he steadied himself and sat up once more, he glanced down at himself with a frown.

A frown that very quickly deepened as he realised he was still dressed from the night before, waistcoat and all.

A frown that was replaced with a look of horror as he realised that the clothes he was wearing were not his at all, and neither, for that matter, was the body beneath them.

Sheer willpower caused him to jump upright and remain standing this time, rapidly patting down his arms and torso, his breathe quickening. No, no... this could not be happening! This was from the realm of a fairy story, he must merely be dreaming. His hands reached for his face, tugging and pressing at the skin, burying themselves into curls wilder and rougher than his own. 

Fingers still clutching in his hair, he glanced around the small room desperately. No, he did not recognise this alcove; it was smaller than his own, strewn with clothes and books and empty beer bottles. He needed confirmation of what his senses were telling him, he needed to see his face with his own eyes, but he could find no looking glass in this room.

He gritted his teeth and even that simple act felt wrong; there was a hollow in his mouth where a molar usually resided. 

A beer bottle. That was glass. That could work. 

The shutters had not been closed, and by twisting the bottle in the early morning light, he was finally able to catch sight of his reflection.

His suspicions did not make the confirmation any easier.

What had happened to him whilst he slept? This made no sense! He steadied himself against the wall, a low groan escaping his lips that sounded utterly foreign to him as he closed his eyes once more. This was a dream. It must be a dream. 

For how was it in any way conceivable that he had awoken this morning in the body of Grantaire?

Perhaps he had gone mad. And then for one horrid moment, he wondered if perhaps he _was_ Grantaire, and was merely imagining himself to be Enjolras. 

He pressed the cool glass of the bottle against his forehead, the shock causing him to have all-but-forgotten his headache. No, he was definitely Enjolras. He remembered everything clearly now. He was Enjolras, the hair overhanging his eyes had until today being golden, he was in his twenty-second year, and he had gone to his _own_ bed last night in his _own_ lodgings. 

So how could this have possibly happened? 

He forced himself to even out his breathing, forced himself to think rationally. For whatever reason, his mind, his soul, was currently residing in Grantaire's body. 

Rational thoughts, he reminded himself sternly when that reminder nearly sent him panicking again. He was horribly aware of his entire being now, how utterly wrong and out of place he felt. 

He could not focus on himself. Grantaire, then! If Enjolras was residing in the drunkard's body, then where was the drunkard himself?

His eyes opened instantly. No, surely fate would not wish such a cruel fate on him...

He must find his original body as quickly as he could.


	2. In which a drunkard receives a rude and surprisingly sober awakening

Grantaire had gone to bed late. He had being drinking heavily, as was the norm, and with no golden-haired Apollo to distract him or tell him to lower his bottle, had swooned onto the bed rather than bothered to change into a nightshirt.

He had also gone to bed alone, that he was sure. Then again, it would not be the first time he forgot that he had brought a wench to his bed the night before.

This, though, was certainly no wench who woke him with a slamming of the door and a loud cursing. 

"I demand you open this door at once!" The voice was exclaiming, and Grantaire had half a mind to ignore it and half a mind to run - it would not be the first time men had found his lodgings and accused him of cheating at cards the night before.

That was the worst part about drinking: having to face your mistakes once sober.

And Grantaire was rather surprised, as he pressed his face into the pillow and attempted to block out the shouting, to find that he was rather alert. Usually he struggled to wake, his body too heavy to drag out of bed until the sun had finished its rising and began to sink once more. Thank goodness fate had given him a chance to escape the hangover today, particularly if the man on the other side of the door was persistent enough to knock the door down.

A loud smash confirmed that yes, this man was persistent enough. 

"You cannot do that!" Grantaire exclaimed in horror, jumping in a fluid motion back onto his knees and then off the bed, at which point he became entangled in the sheet and ended up face-down on the floor, eyes watering and his head swimming. In his haste, he had not even caught a glimpse of his visitor.

So when he felt strong hands grip his shoulders and tug him up, he naturally glanced up, only to come face to face with himself. 

Even with his vision glazed from tears and his forehead throbbing painfully, the man was unmistakable, and he was staring back at Grantaire with the same intensity of gaze. 

"...I have a brother?" Grantaire gave a weak smile, swaying ever so slightly. There was a tightening on his shoulders, his doppelganger was gripping him all the more intensely, kneeling opposite him so they were on the same level. "This _is_ an unexpected delight! I assure you, I had no idea I possessed a twin, no idea at all...!"

"You're babbling," the other man said shortly, and although both voice and tone were familiar, together they did not add up at all. "And you owe me a new door."

Grantaire gave a hollow laugh, lifting a hand to rub his eyes and tentatively touch the forming bump on his head. "I believe it is you that owes me a new door! You did not need to break it open, monsieur, I would have-"

"Grantaire!" The other man snapped, and there it was again, that odd mix of tone and voice that were both so familiar and so unfamiliar. "Grantaire, it is you?" 

"Why, of course it is!" Grantaire exclaimed, rather indigent. "If you are indeed my long-lost twin, surely the resemblance would be enough for you to confirm that suspicion?"

The other man nodded, and for a moment the intensity of his gaze slipped and he looked rather dazed. "Stay here," he said. His tone had softened. He stood up, fumbling with a drawer in a desk - was that desk Grantaire's? Surely he had never seen that in his room before! - and pulling out a small looking glass.

"Look," he commanded, crouching down once more and grasping Grantaire's hand, shoving the glass into it. "Look at yourself."

Grantaire, assuming that this was to check the bump on his head, glanced in it.

Only to drop it not a moment later.


	3. In which two men face themselves, quite literally

His twin growled, grabbing the glass and pressing it into his hand again. "Don't drop it this time! It is the only one I own, I do not want it broken." 

Grantaire gripped it with both hands this time, leaving smudgy fingerprints on the edges, but he did not care. Because the face staring back at him was the most glorious of faces, one that he had memorised over the course of countless nights. 

But that face was in a mirror, and the mirror was reflecting off him, so...

He dropped the mirror again, ignoring the protest from the other as he slumped back against the bed, staring down at himself with widened eyes. "But this is impossible!" He exclaimed, and he wondered how he had not recognised the change in his voice before, let alone the more obvious change in appearance. He stared at his hands - how clean they were now! These were not the calloused, ink-stained hands he was used to! And his shoulders, his arms, they were slender beneath his nightshirt, more the arms of a woman.

It was when his hands pressed between his thighs that his doppelganger grabbed his wrists, halting in his discovery. "Don't you dare!" He growled, and it was only then that Grantaire managed to match the tone. It was the tone of his beloved Apollo, trapped beneath a voice that was no longer his own.

"Enjolras? It is you?!" 

"What did you _do_?" was the only response Grantaire received. "What could you possibly have done to cause this? Did you wish to have the glory of the Republic to yourself?!"

"The Republic?" Grantaire echoed in disbelief, wrenching his wrists free. "We appear to have switched places with each other, and all you can think of is your precious Patria? Why should I possibly want this to have happened? I am as shocked as you are!" 

His words seemed to counsel Enjolras for now, and it was certainly a shock to see such familiar reactions in a face Grantaire was only used to seeing as a reflection. How must his own actions appear to the other? He rubbed his cheek, and how funny that action was within itself! Enjolras had supple fingers, and barely any stubble at all compared to Grantaire's usual morning shadow. His arm did not press quite so much upon his chest as it would have done, and he was able to trace a raised cheekbone. 

"But how," Enjolras whispered, and for once he sounded utterly confounded. Grantaire had never seen Enjolras like this, never once with his shoulders hunched and his voice a mere tremor. Or was that just from being within Grantaire's body? 

His head hurt from thinking.

They would not be able to live like this. He loved his Apollo, yes, but as a beacon of hope, not as a desire to steal his fine body for himself. Grantaire was more than comfortable within his own skin, and would very much like to return to it as soon as possible.

"I, for one, believe that I am still dreaming," he declared after he had given the matter a few moments of though. "Or perhaps I slipped into the river on my way home last night and this is a twisted purgatory."

In response, Enjolras grasped Grantaire's wrist once more and pinched the skin on his forearm, earning a startled yelp. 

"I wish that was all it was," Enjolras muttered, and his voice was as grim as his expression. "How I wish it."

Grantaire rubbed the tender skin, frowning. "There was no need for that! Fine, then it is real. I am you, you are me, and I have a desire to drink until I am recovered."

"Which you will not under any circumstances do!" Enjolras stood up, pacing the room in what were meant to be strong strides, but which in fact rather resembled a fawn attempting its first steps. "If this is real, then we require ground rules."

Grantaire's stomach twisted, as it always did when rules were mentioned. He had no particular fondness for them. "Rules? Is that necessary?"

"Completely!" Enjolras halted, turning to face the door half-hanging from its hinges. "If we are to survive as each other, we shall need them."

Grantaire laughed, and he rather liked the new sound of that laughter, so different from his own. "Ha! And I suppose you shall act the cynic for your own meetings, and down the bottle yourself!"

"If that is what is needed," Enjolras replied, attempting to return the door to its original position and therefore unable to see the expression on Grantaire's face. 

"You expect us to act as each other?! How shall we do that?" He struggled to his feet, and now he experienced the same vertigo that Enjolras must be going through, that very wrongness of being that caused him to stagger and grasp the wall for support. "Why can we not simply refuse to face the world until it has worn off?"

"Because the world cannot wait for us to sort out our own problems." Enjolras managed to prop the door against his hinges well enough and turned back to face him. "We must carry on, and pray that we find a solution."

"But if we cannot...!"

"We shall." Enjolras was firm and the glow in his eyes was determined, familiar even despite it being murky brown rather than a brilliant blue.

Grantaire did not have the heart to correct him, to point out the difficulties with their situation. That they still do not know the cause of this problem, that they have no idea at all how to reverse it. That they do not even know if they _could_ reverse it.

He sighed instead, running his fingers through his hair and momentarily rejoicing in the smoothness of his Apollo's golden curls. 

"If you say so," he muttered under his breath, and then in an even quieter murmur added, "I trust you."

The words sound sweeter in Enjolras' voice than his own.


	4. In which rules are made and preparations for a meeting planned

Enjolras insisted, first and foremost, that Grantaire dress for the day. The people would not support him if he showed up to the meeting clad in only a nightshirt, that much was certain. Grantaire looked at first rather alarmed and then rather pleased at the thought, as Enjolras pretended not to notice and rummaged through his wardrobe, tossing the appropriate items onto the bed.

He could not think of himself as Grantaire, and the man behind him as Enjolras. If he began to do that, he would go mad. He focused himself instead on watching Grantaire dress, ignoring the other man's pleas to turn away. 

"It is myself I am watching, it is nothing I have not seen before," he stated with as much calm as he could muster, arms folded over his chest. Grantaire was not a big man, but his body was sturdier than Enjolras was used to. Soon enough, he would be used to the change in size. 

There was rather an odd sensation in the pit below his stomach as he studied Grantaire closely, ensuring that the other man did not open his eyes. Enjolras brushed the feeling off and tucked a stray curl behind his ear, his fingernail accidentally nicking his skin and making him wince. 

_You are Enjolras,_ he reminded himself. _You are perfectly sane. You just happen to be in the body of another man and adapt to these changes._

Even his own thoughts sounded like he was going mad.

"I'm done, I'm done," Grantaire said rather irritably, and Enjolras nodded. 

"Yes, it's fine now." He turned to his desk, entrusting Grantaire to the rest of his outfit. He found what he was searching for quickly, a few sheets of paper and a quill, and sat down, starting to write.

"What are you doing?" It was his own voice, but the words carried just enough of Grantaire's self that Enjolras was able to feel a bit more at ease. "You're not writing a letter to anyone!"

"No, I am not," he replied, accidentally jabbing the pen into the ink bottle too hard. "I'm writing notes for tonight."

There was an intake of breath behind him, and he sighed, twisting in his seat. "Is there a problem, Grantaire?"

"You're still planning on the meeting tonight? Are you insane?" Grantaire fumbled with the buttons, and Enjolras was rather pleased to see that he was having as much difficulty with his control of Enjolras' body as Enjolras was with Grantaire's. "I myself like to make a speech here and there, but surely you have noticed that most people consider what I say long-winded nonsense! You will not be taken seriously."

"And that," Enjolras replied, attempting to meet his eyes. "Is why you shall be in charge tonight."

Grantaire's hands slipped from Enjolras' waistcoat altogether. "Me?!"

"Who else? People will believe you to be me." He turned back to his notes, attempting to make them as clear and precise as possible. Grantaire was right, he did ramble a lot. Grantaire could not do that as Enjolras.

"You mean what you said? We are to act the parts of each other?" 

"Certainly, although I regret it with each second." Enjolras paused, the tip of his pen resting against his bottom lip. "That includes, as I said before, no drinking. You must promise not to touch one bit of liquor while you are being me."

"Does that include when I'm being myself in your body or not?" There was a touch of hopefulness there. "Because surely, once everyone has gone and there's no-one to impress...!"

"No!" Enjolras barked sharply, twisting his head. "While you are in my body, you are not to drink _at all_." 

Grantaire looked rather aghast. "If that is the case, then you _must_ drink in mine! People shall get suspicious otherwise."

Enjolras still had a slight headache even after all this shock, or maybe it was there because of it. "I shall nurse a bottle and pretend, will that do? I would _hate_ to ruin the great image of a drunkard."

"It will do," Grantaire agreed mildly, and Enjolras was rather disappointed not to have received a better reaction. "You shall also need to work on your speeches."

"Oh? And why should I need to do that?" He rested his elbow on the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply. _You can do this. You have survived an hour of this already, surely a miracle will occur soon and place you back where you belong._

"Because, you forget. Our friends will be there, and they will be the ones most likely to realise something is wrong. It is them we must fool, more than anyone!" 

Enjolras did not often curse, but he did now. He had been so focused on his notes, on his grand speech for the new people who may join the Republic cause, that he had forgotten about those that had always stood beside him. "...it cannot be that hard to be you, Grantaire. I doubt your acting skills, but if you practice, you may be able to pull this off."

Grantaire rolled his eyes with practiced ease, grasping Enjolras' winter coat from the hook behind the door and flourished it, raising it above his head.

"Good people of France! Look at how we have a king! We, the French, have toiled hard for our country, and yet the royal presence mocks us even now! You were promised a fair and just Republic, and yet we once more have a corrupt government that cares only for itself and nothing at all for the people at the bottom of the chain, the people that matter most of all to this glorious country!"

Enjolras was not aware he was gaping at him until Grantaire burst out laughing, placing the coat back on its hook. "You forget, Enjolras! I took acting classes, and I have watched you closely for many nights now. I believe I can cope, so long as you give me the words to say."

Enjolras abruptly closed his mouth, muttered "Yes, I suppose" and turned back to his work, jabbing the pen so hard onto paper that the nib pierced straight through.


	5. In which beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and it is a shallow beholder

"You remember everything?"

"Of course I do!"

"And we plan to run a peaceful government with-"

"Yes, _yes_ , I heard you the first twenty times!"

This last exclamation caused a few heads to turn in their direction. The two of them quickly fell silent until the curious gazes disappeared.

Grantaire loved Enjolras, truly he did. Grantaire had found light at the end of a darkened tunnel and it had been the sun's rays reflecting off that man's golden curls and dedicated eyes. Grantaire had sworn then, as he did every time he watched Enjolras speak, that he would follow that man to the end of the earth.

And yet right now, as they appeared for the first time as each other in public on the way to the Musain, Enjolras was annoying him.

How much was he of Grantaire, how much of himself remained Enjolras? He mused this over, wishing that his beloved would stop with the constant nagging. Before today, he would have been delighted to have held Enjolras' attention for so long, and that was what puzzled him now.

Was this Enjolras' annoyance at himself he was feeling? Or was it his own mental emotions?

"Soon," he remarked quietly to himself, making sure to keep his words out of earshot from his companion, "I believe I will go completely mad." 

The voice did not sound exactly like Enjolras from this perspective, but it was similar enough to soothe him. He blatantly ignored Enjolras as the other ranted on and on - mostly about the republic, per the norm - and caught the eye of a young woman passing by. He gave her a rather crooked smile, expecting her to pointedly ignore him and walk away faster. Such was the infliction Grantaire cast upon women. 

Instead, she pressed a hand to her chest and quickly turned her head, a noticeable blush on her cheeks before she peered back at him through fluttering eyelashes. 

Grantaire very nearly stopped dead in the street, prompting Enjolras to grasp his elbow and steer him onwards. Grantaire would usually have cherished this contact; now he barely noticed it.

Never before had a woman looked at him with such a coquettish gaze, never before had a young lady shown such immediate interest in him. 

For as long as he could remember, Grantaire had been branded as "ugly". The label stuck, his friends at the Musain treated it as a joke, and Grantaire was used to it. He could laugh about it himself, even! It was a defining characteristic, his ugliness, as much as being the drunkard of the group. 

But now he was Enjolras. 

He was now beautiful. 

He glanced down at his arm, at the grip on his elbow, and allowed Enjolras to lead him along. He tried catching the eye of a few more people, flashing small smiles here and there, and for the first time in his life, each smile was returned. There was some deep emotion swelling in his chest and causing himself to stand taller; pride, perhaps. Did Enjolras notice the admiring glances he received from the passersby? Grantaire rather doubted he did, but to a man who had been unloved most of his life, these reactions were wonderful! How could Enjolras not delight in them?

Another smiling face, and this time Grantaire could not help giving them a wave. 

His wrist was quickly grasped. "Grantaire! What are you doing?" Enjolras hissed under his breath. "We are meant to be keeping a low profile!"

Grantaire was finally attracting positive attention, and Enjolras wanted to ruin this most wonderful moment? Grantaire had half a mind to break free of Enjolras' grip and dance about the streets, with a song on his lips and the world at his feet!

He chose not to go gallivanting in Enjolras' body as that would probably involve his untimely death at Enjolras' hands, and settled for winking at the passing folk whenever he was certain Enjolras was not paying attention. 

Yes, he could get used to being beautiful.


	6. In which one man rises while another man falls

Thank heavens Grantaire could act.

Enjolras nursed the bottle in his hands, eyes trained on the man currently speaking. The man everyone believed to be him. The man they were counting on to help lead the way to a glorious future.

And if that man was rambling rather more than usual between glances at the paper he was clutching, then hopefully no-one was noticing.

Perhaps Enjolras should give him more credit in the future, considering that Grantaire was actually rising to the occasion for once. Or maybe some remnant of Enjolras' personality had stayed behind in his body, and it was that which was helping him with the performance. 

He instantly wished he had not thought of that. He did not need to deal with deciding exactly which parts of himself were Enjolras still and which parts of him were Grantaire now. 

The bottle was halfway to his lips before he realised what he was doing; an instant later his hand was lowered. No, he may appear to the outside world as Grantaire, but he would not stoop to his levels. It would do the man some good to go sober for a while, no matter how enticing the wine seemed to him at this moment. He usually could not care less for drink but the aroma from the bottle currently seemed as sweet as the nectar of the Olympian gods. It was taking a concentrated effort to avoid downing any. 

"You're not drinking?" Courfeyrac exclaimed, to which Enjolras winced automatically. He had been trying to avoid their friends, hiding away on a quieter table than usual and hoping they would not notice. "My goodness, what a day this is! Surely this is a miracle!" Courfeyrac sank down onto the empty chair beside him, tugging a giggling woman onto his knee whom Enjolras assumed was his current mistress.

Or perhaps she was not. You could never tell with Courfeyrac. 

"I am going easy on the drink tonight," Enjolras replied, giving a forced smile. Usually he would have delighted in talking to such a close friend, but right now he wanted to focus on Grantaire and the reaction of those gathered here.

"Easy, you? As I said, a miracle!" Courfeyrac laughed, kissing the neck of his lady and causing her to giggle. 

Enjolras was unamused. 

"Hey." His friend grinned, bouncing the woman on his knee. "Mademoiselle Lucie has a friend, Grantaire! I bet she'd love to meet you!" 

"Maybe some other time." Enjolras had lifted the bottle and taken a gulp before his mind registered it. The taste of wine flooded his mouth, a thick warmth spreading from his throat through to his stomach. _No more_ , he told himself firmly, almost dropping the bottle in his eagerness to rid himself of temptation. Of _course_ Grantaire's body would have cravings; he should have found an empty bottle to nurse instead.

"But she is so very lovely!" Courfeyrac insisted, and if he had noticed Enjolras' struggle with the bottle, he did not show it. "Colette! Come and meet my good friend!"

A beautiful blonde girl turned at his words, moving to their table, and Enjolras really wished he could be anywhere from here. He could summon a casual appreciation of the beauty of the woman, yes, but he currently had more important things on his mind. 

Grantaire's body, it seemed, did not. 

He realised Courfeyrac was staring at him and quickly jumped to his feet, leaning across the table and catching Colette's hand in his. "Wonderful to meet you, mademoiselle." He kissed her hand lightly before sitting back, hoping that it was over and he could continue watching Grantaire in peace.

"Is this him?" Colette had tilted her head, staring at Courfeyrac. "He looks..." She seemed to be struggling for the right word, a small smile on her face that was obviously forced. Enjolras would rather have liked to know what she was trying to say, and if it was meant as a compliment or - more likely from her expression - a criticism. 

"Ah, do not fret! Grantaire is wonderful once you get to know him!" Courfeyrac leaned over, swinging an arm over Enjolras' shoulders and tugging him close. Enjolras, resisting the urge to struggle, gave a forced smile. "Just make sure not to actually act yourself around her," Courfeyrac added as a low mutter into his ear, and the smile was dropped.

"Excuse me?" Enjolras shoved Courfeyrac away, ignoring the protests of both him and the lady on his lap. 

Courfeyrac gave a laugh, looking at him in surprise. "I said nothing, Grantaire, except that you are a wonderful man! Any woman would be lucky to have you!" This directed to Colette with a wink.

"As long as I do not act myself?" Enjolras stood up abruptly once more, his fists curled on the table. "You expect me to act?"

And Grantaire considered this man his friend? Grantaire thought that being told not to act himself around someone was good advice? Enjolras had snapped at Grantaire before to alter aspects of himself, yes, but he had never really considered Grantaire a friend. More an ally, or an acquaintance. 

It did not help that Enjolras had never before in his life been told to be anything than what he already was. 

Courfeyrac was on his feet now, the two women hasting away in a flurry of skirts and whispered comments. "Grantaire, what has gotten into you tonight?"

The name resounded in his mind. Grantaire. That was who he was meant to be. Grantaire probably would have swept that girl into his arms and kissed her senseless there and then.

But Enjolras could not do that. He could not bring himself to. Not even in Grantaire's body.

His body was trembling, the clothes he was wearing suddenly itching and restrictive. He was aware that the room was quieter than it had been, even as Grantaire's voice still rang proud and true, distracting attention. His own voice. 

His shoulders sagged, his proud stance failing. Grantaire was doing a fine job of playing at him, whereas Enjolras had drawn too much attention to himself. For once, _Enjolras_ was the failure. 

He slumped back into his seat, grasping the bottle and chugging back the wine with barely a thought. It soothed his itch, calmed his nerves. Perhaps he should drink more often. "'m sorry," he muttered to Courfeyrac, not meeting his gaze. 

Courfeyrac stayed still, and then he gave a sigh and the tension held in his shoulders dispelled. "If you are not willing, then I shall not share tonight." He leaned forward, patting Enjolras' shoulder in a kindly manner as he took his seat. "Allow me the next round, at least?" 

Enjolras said nothing in reply, barely processing his friend's words or touch. 

His attention was busy focusing solely on Grantaire.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for a canon era E & R bodyswap prompt over on the Les Mis kinkmeme, and that was where it remained for several years until I suddenly had the memory of writing it. I'm posting what I had written here so that next time I have the urge to find it, I won't have to dredge through pages upon pages of kink meme prompts.


End file.
